


Sugar

by nerdwegian



Series: Tumblr Prompts [35]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Skinny!Steve, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdwegian/pseuds/nerdwegian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hi," says the guy standing there, giving Sam a sheepish grin.</p>
<p>Sam blinks. The guy's tiny. Pasty white and twinky as fuck, and pretty much exactly his type, before--well, <i>before</i>.</p>
<p>(Tumblr prompt: Brand new neighbors.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar

The knock on Sam's door is quiet, but it still makes his entire body jerk involuntarily. Sam glances at the clock, then at the calendar on the wall to make sure, but it's definitely Thursday, which means he's not expecting any deliveries. It could be a solicitor of some sort, but he normally doesn't get those, either. Sam stares hard at the pages of his book, not really managing to process any of the words he's reading, and is really going to ignore the knock--really, he is--when it happens again. Even softer this time, as if whoever's knocking is halfway sure nobody's home.

Sam's not sure why, but in the end he puts down his book, gets up, and goes to open the door.

"Hi," says the guy standing there, giving Sam a sheepish grin.

Sam blinks. The guy's tiny. Pasty white and twinky as fuck, and pretty much exactly his type, before--well, _before_.

"Uh," Sam says. "Hi?"

The guy rubs two fingers across his forehead and looks slightly uncomfortable. "Hi, I'm really sorry to bother you, I was just looking for some sugar--" Sam raises both eyebrows, which makes the guy realize what he's just said. His face turns an interesting shade of red, and he scowls at Sam in obvious embarrassment. "Oh, shut up."

Sam laughs, he can't help himself. It feels really strange on his face, and he distantly thinks it's maybe been too long since he laughed.

"My friend coaches little league, they're having a bake sale, I got roped into baking an extra cake," the guy explains miserably, holding out an empty measuring cup. "I'm out of sugar and apparently thought it was a good idea to come here and embarrass myself instead of having to go to the store."

Sam thinks about the last time he got groceries delivered. Last Friday. He has sugar, he knows, but he doesn't know how much, offhand. There's probably at least a cup's worth there, though.

"I think I have some," he responds.

"Oh, great," the guy says, both looking and sounding relieved, and then he moves, just a tiny step forward.

Before Sam can really think about it, he's in a defensive half-crouch, pulse racing and one arm extended, hand almost at the stranger's throat, before he manages to stop himself.

"Whoa," the guy says, all traces of embarrassment gone. His face has gone serious, and his hands have come up, empty palms towards Sam. The measuring cup is rolling to a stop on Sam's front step.

Sam stares and tries to calm his nerves, focusing on his breathing. In and out. Calm.

"I wasn't going to come inside," the guy says, voice steady and even now, a complete contrast to the awkward demeanor from just a few seconds prior.

Sam manages a nod. At least he didn't actually make it as far as grabbing the guy.

"Sorry," Sam says. "Sorry."

"Nah," the guy shakes his head. "I startled you. I didn't mean to."

Sam's skin feels clammy. He averts his eyes. "I'll get your sugar," he says numbly, bending down to retrieve the cup. Before he can head into his house, however, the guy stops him with a quiet, "Hey."

Sam pauses, staring hard at the floor.

"You okay?" the guy asks.

Sam considers, before conceding, "I'll be fine." It's not a lie. He will be. In time.

Even out of the corner of his eye, Sam can tell that the guy doesn't look convinced.

"I'm Steve," he says, then gestures vaguely sideways. "I just moved in. Right there, see? Next door?"

Sam manages another little nod. "S'good to meet you, Steve," he says, because that's what people say in these situations, when they're not too busy having their maybe-flirting interrupted by flashbacks. "I'll be right back with your sugar."

"If you don't mind me asking," Steve says, stopping Sam from leaving again. "Where did you serve?"

Sam feels both relieved and ashamed at the same time. He must broadcast _PTSD_ like a neon sign. He considers just running away, shutting the door in Steve's face to avoid dealing with any of this--but when he finally looks up again, he doesn't find anything but gentle kindness in Steve's eyes. No pity. No wariness.

"Iraq," Sam finally says. "Two tours. 58th pararescue."

A ghost of a smile appears on Steve's face. "My best buddy was in the 107th. You guys got it rough over there. Glad you made it back."

Sam doesn't know what to say, and he isn't sure where Steve's going with this. Sam keeps to himself, everyone knows that. Steve's new to the neighborhood, so maybe he just doesn't get it yet? Did Sam accidentally somehow give the impression that he's not completely fucked up, by sort-of flirting with Steve?

"You seem a lot less jittery now," Sam says, trying his best to get out a smile that isn't entirely forced.

"What can I say," Steve shrugs, cheeks coloring faintly again. "I tend to keep a cool head under pressure. At least pressure that doesn't involve sugar."

Sam snorts. "They should hire you down at the VA."

Steve, in an oddly charming turn of events, slump down a little, clearly embarrassed again, as he rubs his neck. "Actually, uh, they did. I'm supposed to start next week."

For a split second, Sam waits for his muscles to tense up again, but they don't. Instead, something that feels like relief goes through him. The feeling that Steve _gets it_ makes his heart beat faster.

A thought occurs to Sam, then.

"Wait, what's your job there?"

"I'm a counselor," Steve says. "I'm taking over for Dr. Sanders when she's retiring? I'll be working alongside her for the next few months, and then I think I'm supposed to take over half her patient load to start with when she leaves. The rest of her patients I think will be distributed among the other counselors, and I'll round out my client base with new patients."

"Oh, okay," Sam breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm seeing Jack Marcello."

"I'm a good counselor," Steve says, looking slightly indignant at Sam's obvious relief.

"That's not what I meant," Sam says hurriedly, and then decides to throw every caution to the wind because there's something about this guy that makes him feel brave. "I mean, you probably can't date your patients, right?"

A glint appears in Steve's eyes as he understands, and then he smiles, corners of his mouth twitching as if he's restraining himself. "No, I can't. Good thing you won't be my patient, then."

Sam returns the smile and nods. "Good thing."

They stare at each other for a few moments, and Sam feels like he's coming alive under Steve's eyes, like the world is slowly coming back into focus around him, when he wasn't even aware it had been blurry in the first place.

"So," Steve says, clearing his throat. "Think I can get that sugar?"

Sam nods, and doesn't even bother to keep the innuendo out of his voice this time. "I have some to spare."

End.


End file.
